


Divide and Conquer

by gayreclinetime



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Fluff, M/M, autism headcanons, theyre both autistic and they Like each other and these are the facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayreclinetime/pseuds/gayreclinetime
Summary: At first, he thought he’d just been trying to compensate for something-- which he still thought was probably also true-- but in addition to that, Dakota had found out they’d shared something in common.





	Divide and Conquer

**Author's Note:**

> i never thought milo murphy's law would be like The New Thing i got very into but i love cavendish and dakota a lot and as always all i can write are one-shot gay character studies ft. Daily Autism. enjoy

“Come on, up with you,” Cavendish insisted as he ripped the covers from Dakota’s hands. Dakota winced and groaned as they were pulled away, light shining through, giving him barely enough time to cover his eyes. “We can’t have you lazing about all morning.” Dakota knew exactly then what time it was: 8 AM, on the dot, the same time Cavendish always tried to wake him up. He just grumbled and buried his head into his pillow, which Cavendish then pulled out from under him.

“You’re a monster.” He got up on his elbows, rubbing his blurry eyes. “Couldn’t you have closed the blinds? I’m gonna get a headache.”

Cavendish looked puzzled at the mere suggestion, and then apologetic. “Ah, that’s right. I forgot.” He looked between Dakota and the blinds before tentatively twisting them shut. “There.”

“Thanks,” Dakota got to his feet and let his eyes adjust, relieved that the pain at the forefront of his skull did subside. Cav was already dressed, which meant he was hungry, which was good for both of them, because breakfast beat morning grogginess in Dakota’s book. “What day is it again?”

“Tuesday.”

“So that means--”

“Breakfast at the bakery on the corner, yes. Now go get dressed, it’ll be 8:30 before we know it.” Dakota doubted that, but he got dressed and freshened up anyway, greeted by a restless Cavendish-- checking his watch for what had to be the hundredth time-- when he finished. Cavendish double checked he had everything- watch, journal, pen, a properly buttoned vest- while Dakota feverishly scrubbed out a smudge on his sunglasses. After making sure their landlord wasn’t hanging around, they both headed out, Cavendish leading the way.

Surprisingly, Cavendish didn’t pull Dakota along right away whenever he stopped to pet a passing dog or look in a store window, which meant they must’ve been making decent time. The smell of the bakery caught their attention before the sight of the actual building did, and the older woman behind the counter actually said a friendly hello to both of them, and their usual table was already set up and open. Dakota sat in front of the window with Cavendish across from him, perusing the menu while Cavendish scribbled something down in his journal. He didn’t look up until he noticed his food had already been brought, looking delightfully surprised to see his regular order had been memorized. Dakota ordered while he appreciated the accuracy of his meal.

“What are the chances,” He said, stirring two packets of sugar into his tea.

“Pretty high, actually. You order the same thing every time.”

“Consistency, Dakota,” He continued. “Besides, you said it yourself, this place has the best croissants in town.”

“You got me there.”

They had breakfast in relative silence, as Cavendish had made it clear again and again how he didn’t appreciate Dakota’s lack of table manners, him talking with his mouth full most of all. It was nice, actually, considering the usual calamity they’d been running into; though the quiet grated on Dakota just a little. It wouldn’t hurt if the place could put the radio on or something. He drummed on the table as he leaned back and ate, as a substitution, and watched in amusement as Cavendish ate with his usual poise and precision. It was kind of strange, how that had grown on him; Cav always trying to look like he knew what he was doing, even with something as simple as holding a knife and fork.

At first, he thought he’d just been trying to compensate for something-- which he still thought was probably also true-- but in addition to that, Dakota had found out they’d shared something in common. They were both autistic.

 

They’d had a brief conversation about it-- not terribly in depth-- a lot of, _did you ever get in trouble as kid because_ , and, _don’t you hate the noise this or that makes_. At first Dakota thought it would mean they would have a lot more in common, and there was a more common ground between the two, as it only ended up growing, but it put them somewhat more at odds as well. Cavendish had a ritual for nearly everything, and a tight schedule, and ended up a nervous wreck when something was off, or wrong, or in his way. He knew his way around the logic of time travel inside and out, like the back of his hand, but-- though he would certainly never admit it-- many other things were a puzzle to him, and the conclusions he tended to reach had some abstract logic behind it in the end. He hated the sound of ambulance alarms and music over volume six, the feeling of felt and steel wool, and had a particularly easily upset stomach. He never left without his journal, and was always checking his watch, and the one time Dakota could remember him leaving without a pen or pencil he’d spent the entire day agitated and wringing his hands.

Dakota wasn’t exactly one for schedules-- not that they particularly got in his way, but it was so easy to forget or mix up the order, or get just plain distracted-- and was more of a “big picture” kind of guy. He hated silence, and was either always doing something with his hands or had them stuffed deep inside his pockets. He had learned sarcasm, and was an avid user, but in spite of that he couldn’t ever tell if someone had gotten what he said; plenty found that obnoxious. Focus wasn’t exactly his strong suit unless it was something he was already deeply invested in, which tended to frustrate people the most. He got a lot of headaches, and just about thirty seconds in the sun was enough to set one off. He’d never gotten the appeal of wearing silk, especially when it rubbed together, and always had to cover his ears when a motorcycle went roaring by.

 

So even when they had something in common, there was that slight conflict that got in each other’s way, every once in awhile. Dakota had to admit, he thought they’d worked around it pretty well by now; there was always the same usual banter, the moments where they tended to get under each other’s skin, but Dakota had learned to keep up with Cavendish’s schedules enough, and Cavendish similarly had taken to keeping a bottle of aspirin with him for Dakota’s headaches, and both of them went along with the other when they needed to. Dakota knew, through experience, there weren’t a lot of people that open to the idea of compromise-- something Cavendish was starting to figure out, too. It was just another reason why they were the only ones who would have each other. In the end, one person was better than nobody at all.

They left their tip, Dakota deciding to take an eclair to go, and started on their way back to their “base”. Cavendish checked his watch again on the walk, humming approvingly, but in spite of their good timing, he looked somewhat troubled.

 

“What’s eatin’ ya, Cav?” Dakota noticed he was starting to wring his hands a little.

“I don’t know. Something just feels… Off.” He looked around, partially worried and suspicious. Dakota wasn’t too worried-- Cavendish was always trying to convince him about his ‘intuition’, as he called it.

“What? You think Murphy’s on his way,” He cracked. “Left one of your coattails inside your pants?”

Cavendish scoffed at him, but checked his coattails all the same, and then proceeded to pat the rest of himself down. “Wh-- Oh, _no_!” He shouted, suddenly going pale. “No, no, no! Blast it all!”

“What, what’s the problem?”

Cavendish was getting very agitated now, jerkily shoving his hands inside his jacket pockets, hopelessly glancing around. “My journal! It’s gone!” He’d taken off his hat now, fingers digging into his scalp. He was on the cusp of pacing. “I just had it-- I could’ve sworn-- where could it have gone? What if somebody’s _stolen_ it?”

“Whoooa whoa whoa, Cav, stop. Breathe.” Dakota held up a hand, trying to get Cavendish to focus on him. “It’s gonna be okay, look-- I bet you just left it at the bakery.”

He seemed a little more comforted. “Right. Of course. We’ll just go back and get it and then we’ll be back in time for--” Cavendish looked at his clock, eyes nearly bulging out of his head now. “Oh-- check in’s just fifteen minutes from now! We’d never make it back in time!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” Dakota put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go back and get your journal. You go back to the apartment and check in with Mr. Block. Divide and conquer, alright?”

“Divide and conquer,” Cavendish repeated. “Yes. Yes, good, alright-- not a problem!”

“Good, okay.” Dakota gave his shoulder a pat. “Break on three, ready? One, two-- go!”

Dakota took off, Cavendish dashing in the other direction, heading to the end of the road. He wished he’d asked for directions from Cavendish earlier, or maybe had been the one to go back to base, because after he’d passed the antiques shop and the bench that was slightly crooked, he was running out of landmarks to go off of. The last turn was coming up fast.

_Shoot_ , he thought, slowing to a halt. _Left or right? Left, right?_ He tried to recall what direction Cavendish had taken, every time, even pulling Dakota along when he guessed the wrong direction. _Left. Yeah, left. Which way is left again?_ He was no great navigator, but he did have an age-old trick. He stuck out both arms in front of him, squeezing both hands in and out of fists, trying to envision himself holding a pen in his dominant one. He put his right arm down, pointing along with his left. _Yes! Bingo_.

A great wave of relief washed over him as he saw the bakery up ahead, even more so when he saw Cavendish’s journal, right there where he had been sitting. He snatched it up just as one of the waitresses was coming to collect their empty plates.

 

“Sorry!” He called, as he headed back out of the door. “Forgot this! Have a nice day!”

 

It was smoother on the way back, journal tucked under his arm. Dakota had seen his partner writing in his book everyday, since the day they had met. It was a miracle Dakota had even calmed him down enough to convince him to go back, he could only imagine how Cav would’ve held up if he hadn’t intervened. For a quick, guilty moment, Dakota wondered about what exactly Cavendish had been writing in it that made it such a prized possession. What it could hurt if he just took one peek.

He snapped himself out of that just as soon as he’d thought of it. Cavendish was probably having a full blown panic attack back at their place, and Dakota was debating whether or not he should be invading his privacy. It wasn’t any of his business to begin with, anyway, and luckily for him his skill in minding his own business and his focus on getting back was enough to sate any of his curiosity in the meantime.

 

“I’m back!” He called, tumbling through the door, and then soon after falling flat on his stomach. He was wheezing. “I-- augh-- I got it. I got your book.” Had he been running that entire time? Had that been actual adrenaline keeping him up and moving?

“My journal!” Cavendish almost leaped into the air, ecstatic. He picked pried it from Dakota’s sweaty hand, ran through the pages, clutched it to his chest in relief. “Oh, thank heavens! Oh, Dakota, I don’t know how to-- Oh, Dakota.” Cavendish gave him a prod with his foot. “What happened to you?”

“I’m good,” Dakota huffed. “Just collapsed my lungs. Also I’m dying.”

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“ _Please_.”

Cavendish pocketed his book, and then loaded up one of the red solo cups Dakota had invested in with ice cubes and water. Dakota all but gulped it down, groaning as he finished, and fell flat and face-down onto the floor again.

“Alright, you take a moment.” Cavendish sort of hovered over him. “Catch your breath, quickly, Dakota. We’ve got a mission.”

 

***

 

The mission went very poorly, more so than usual. Both of them were off their game, Cavendish even more jittery from the incident that morning, and Dakota left with a throbbing headache that made him feel like he was harboring an alien inside of his skull. Both of them had sulked back to base, had to crawl out of damp, pistachio-shell ridden clothing, and help each other pick the remains out of their hair. Dakota had flopped down on the couch and tried to doze while Cavendish grumbled to himself, writing in his reclaimed journal furiously.

Dakota heard the door close at one point, opening one eye to see where Cavendish was going, but didn’t really have the energy to ask after him. Probably just went to walk his frustration off, or gone someplace to have a drink and brood, so Dakota rolled back over and went back to working at full unconsciousness. He faded in and out, with mixed results, until he heard the door open and clothes again, Cavendish’s quiet footsteps falling along the floor.

 

“I’m up,” He mumbled, sitting up. “Where were you?”

“Ah. Nowhere important,” Cavendish said, waiting dismissively. “Just went to fetch dinner.”

“Alright,” Dakota perked up. “Good timing, I’m starving.”

 

Cavendish passed along a box of Chinese takeout, silverware, and a fortune cookie. They ate in close proximity, Cavendish finally out of his hat and overcoat for the day, Dakota himself down to his undershirt and boxers. He caught eye of Cav’s journal next to him on the arm of the couch, and after picking a lo mein noodle off his shirt, pointed to it.

“Hey, Cav, I wanted to ask-- what’re you always writing in there anyways?”

Cavendish, almost instinctively, put his hand over his journal as if to shield it from view. “Oh, you know. Whatever I feel like putting into words. To be vigilant.”

“Right.”

“That reminds me, actually,” Cavendish cleared his throat. “I meant to give you this.” He grabbed his coat and, reaching into one of the inner pockets, produced a red sleeping mask.

“Oh, wow!” Dakota took it, examining it in his hands. “Is this satin? _Nice_.”

“Yes, well,” Cavendish sat up a little straighter, obviously trying not to beam. “Glad you like it. I assume the blinds won’t be a problem now, yes?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dakota slipped it onto his forehead. He spent some time feeling the fabric, then shot a smile towards Cavendish, and elbowed him lightly.

“What was that for?”

“Just to say thanks,” He said. “This is really nice.”

“Yes, well, you’re welcome. Don’t mention it.” The pleased smile on Cavendish’s face was obvious now, though Dakota didn’t point it out, even if he wanted to. It was just nice to have the moment.


End file.
